UC-NRLF 


353 


A  •  • 
•V-: 


I  SALOMYJANE 

I   S^BRET  HARTE 


ill 


I 


GIFT   OF 

4(100 


1 


Ax,./ 


SALOMY  JANE 


BY 


BRET   HARTE 

L — 


W 

s^J 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

HARRISON    FISHER  AND 

ARTHUR   I.    KELLER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

luiuTsiCit  pii-ss  «Camlm&gr 


^ 


COPYRIGHT,    1898,   BY   BRET   HARTE 

COPYRIGHT,    IQOO,    BY    HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN    &    CO. 
COPYRIGHT,   1910,   BY   HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  October  iqio 


CONTENTS 

I      A     KlSS    AND    AN    ESCAPE  I 

II    THE   LADY'S   REFLECTIONS  19 

III  THE   Kiss  REPEATED  35 

IV  ANOTHER  ESCAPE  59 


260320 


ONLY  one  shot  had  been  fired.  It 
had  gone  wide  of  its  mark,  —  the  ring 
leader  of  the  Vigilantes, — and  had  left 
Red  Pete,  who  had  fired  it,  covered  by 
their  rifles  and  at  their  mercy.  For  his 
hand  had  been  cramped  by  hard  rid 
ing,  and  his  eye  distracted  by  their  sud 
den  onset,  and  so  the  inevitable  end 
had  come.  He  submitted  sullenly  to 
his  captors ;  his  companion  fugitive  and 
horse-thief  gave  up  the  protracted 
struggle  with  a  feeling  not  unlike  re 
lief.  Even  the  hot  and  revengeful  vict 
ors  were  content.  They  had  taken  their 
men  alive.  At  any  time  during  the  long 


€h  »<w 
(I1 


-%, 


*&> 


U  «£ 

Sfci/Sl 


\^v 


SALOMY  JANE 

chase  they  could  have  brought  them 
down  by  a  rifle-shot,  but  it  would  have 
been  unsportsmanlike,  and  have  ended 
in  a  free  fight,  instead  of  an  example. 
And,  for  the  matter  of  that,  their  doom 
was  already  sealed.  Their  end,  by  a  rope 
and  a  tree,  although  not  sanctified  by 
law,  would  have  at  least  the  delibera 
tion  of  justice.  It  was  the  tribute  paid 
by  the  Vigilantes  to  that  order  which 
they  had  themselves  disregarded  in  the 
pursuit  and  capture.  Yet  this  strange 
logic  of  the  frontier  sufficed  them,  and 
gave  a  certain  dignity  to  the  climax. 

"  Ef  you  Jve  got  anything  to  say  to 
your  folks,  say  it  now,  and  say  it 
quick,"  said  the  ringleader. 

Red  Pete  glanced  around  him.    He 


SALOMY  JANE 

had  been  run  to  earth  at  his  own  cabin 
in  the  clearing,  whence  a  few  relations 
and  friends,  mostly  women  and  chil 
dren,  non-combatants,  had  outflowed, 
gazing  vacantly  at  the  twenty  Vigi 
lantes  who  surrounded  them.  All  were 
accustomed  to  scenes  of  violence,  blood- 
feud,  chase,  and  hardship;  it  was  only 
the  suddenness  of  the  onset  and  its 
quick  result  that  had  surprised  them. 
They  looked  on  with  dazed  curiosity 
and  some  disappointment;  there  had 
been  no  fight  to  speak  of—  no  spec 
tacle!  A  boy,  nephew  of  Red  Pete,  got 
upon  the  rain-barrel  to  view  the  pro 
ceedings  more  comfortably;  a  tall, 
handsome,  lazy  Kentucky  girl,  a  visit 
ing  neighbor,  leaned  against  the  door- 


/? 

,.   -,$?':  .1 

KTic€ 


SALOMY  JANE 

post,  chewing  gum.  Only  a  yellow 
hound  was  actively  perplexed.  He 
could  not  make  out  if  a  hunt  were  just 
over  or  beginning,  and  ran  eagerly 
backwards  and  forwards,  leaping  alter 
nately  upon  the  captives  and  the  cap 
tors. 

The  ringleader  repeated  his  chal 
lenge.  Red  Pete  gave  a  reckless  laugh 
and  looked  at  his  wife. 

At  which  Mrs.  Red  Pete  came  for 
ward.  It  seemed  that  she  had  much  to 
say,  incoherently,  furiously,  vindic 
tively,  to  the  ringleader.  His  soul 
would  roast  in  hell  for  that  day's  work! 
He  called  himself  a  man,  skunkin'  in 
the  open  and  afraid  to  show  himself 
except  with  a  crowd  of  other  "  Kiyi's  " 


SALOMY  JANE 

around  a  house  of  women  and  children. 
Heaping  insult  upon  insult,  inveighing 
against  his  low  blood,  his  ancestors,  his 
dubious  origin,  she  at  last  flung  out  a 
wild  taunt  of  his  invalid  wife,  the  insult 
of  a  woman  to  a  woman,  until  his  white 
face  grew  rigid,  and  only  that  Western- 
American  fetich  of  the  sanctity  of  sex 
kept  his  twitching  fingers  from  the 
lock  of  his  rifle.  Even  her  husband  no 
ticed  it,  and  with  a  half-authoritative 
"  Let  up  on  that,  old  gal,"  and  a  pat  of 
his  freed  left  hand  on  her  back,  took 
his  last  parting.  The  ringleader,  still 
white  under  the  lash  of  the  woman's 
tongue,  turned  abruptly  to  the  second 
captive.  "  And  if  you  Ve  got  anybody  to 
say  <good-by '  to,  now's  your  chance." 


*  • 


h& 


\\\v 


SALOMY  JANE 

The  man  looked  up.  Nobody  stirred 
or  spoke.  He  was  a  stranger  there, 
being  a  chance  confederate  picked  up 
by  Red  Pete,  and  known  to  no  one.  Still 
young,  but  an  outlaw  from  his  aban 
doned  boyhood,  of  which  father  and 
mother  were  only  a  forgotten  dream, 
he  loved  horses  and  stole  them,  fully 
accepting  the  frontier  penalty  of  life  for 
the  interference  with  that  animal  on 
which  a  man's  life  so  often  depended. 
But  he  understood  the  good  points  of  a 
horse,  as  was  shown  by  the  one  he  be 
strode —  until  a  few  days  before  the 
property  of  Judge  Boompointer.  This 
was  his  sole  distinction. 

The  unexpected  question  stirred 
him  for  a  moment  out  of  the  attitude 


V 


SALOMY  JANE 

of  reckless  indifference,  for  attitude  it 
was,  and  a  part  of  his  profession.  But 
it  may  have  touched  him  that  at  that 
moment  he  was  less  than  his  compan 
ion  and  his  virago  wife.  However,  he 
only  shook  his  head.  As  he  did  so  his 
eye  casually  fell  on  the  handsome  girl 
by  the  doorpost,  who  was  looking  at 
him.  The  ringleader,  too,  may  have 
been  touched  by  his  complete  loneli 
ness,  for  he  hesitated.  At  the  same 
moment  he  saw  that  the  girl  was  look 
ing  at  his  friendless  captive. 

A  grotesque  idea  struck  him. 

"Salomy  Jane,  ye  might  do  worse 
than  come  yere  and  say  'good-by'  to  a 
dying  man,  and  him  a  stranger,"  he 
said. 


'& 


'%. 

*>/   \iv 


SALOMY  JANE 

There  seemed  to  be  a  subtle  stroke 
of  poetry  and  irony  in  this  that  equally 
struck  the  apathetic  crowd.  It  was 
well  known  that  Salomy  Jane  Clay 
thought  no  small  potatoes  of  herself, 
and  always  held  off  the  local  swain 
with  a  lazy  nymph-like  scorn.  Never 
theless,  she  slowly  disengaged  herself 
from  the  doorpost,  and,  to  everybody's 
astonishment,  lounged  with  languid 
grace  and  outstretched  hand  towards 
the  prisoner.  The  color  came  into  the 
gray  reckless  mask  which  the  doomed 
man  wore  as  her  right  hand  grasped 
his  left,  just  loosed  by  his  captors. 
Then  she  paused;  her  shy,  fawn-like 
eyes  grew  bold,  and  fixed  themselves 
upon  him.  She  took  the  chewing-gum 


mu 


^/(  AVT"^- 


SALOMY  JANE 

from  her  mouth,  wiped  her  red  lips 
with  the  back  of  her  hand,  by  a  sudden 
lithe  spring  placed  her  foot  on  his  stir 
rup,  and,  bounding  to  the  saddle, 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  lips. 

They  remained  thus 'for  a  hushed 
moment  —  the  man  on  the  threshold 
of  death,  the  young  woman  in  the  full 
ness  of  youth  and  beauty  —  linked  to 
gether.  Then  the  crowd  laughed;  in 
the  audacious  effrontery  of  the  girl's 
act  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  two  men 
was  forgotten.  She  slipped  languidly 
to  the  ground ;  she  was  the  focus  of  all 
eyes,  —  she  only!  The  ringleader  saw 
it  and  his  opportunity.  He  shouted: 
"  Time 's  up  —  Forward ! "  urged  his 


% 


^«" 


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t&Y 


SALOMY  JANE 

horse  beside  his  captives,  and  the  next 
moment  the  whole  cavalcade  was 
sweeping  over  the  clearing  into  the 
darkening  woods. 

Their  destination  was  Sawyer's 
Crossing,  the  headquarters  of  the  com 
mittee,  where  the  council  was  still  sit 
ting,  and  where  both  culprits  were  to 
expiate  the  offense  of  which  that  coun 
cil  had  already  found  them  guilty. 
They  rode  in  great  and  breathless 
haste,  —  a  haste  in  which,  strangely 
enough,  even  the  captives  seemed  to 
join.  That  haste  possibly  prevented 
them  from  noticing  the  singular  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  second 
captive  since  the  episode  of  the  kiss. 
His  high  color  remained,  as  if  it  had 


&&»&. 
\yh  Avrt 


SALOMY  JANE 

burned  through  his  mask  of  indiffer 
ence;  his  eyes  were  quick,  alert,  and 
keen,  his  mouth  half  open  as  if  the  girl's 
kiss  still  lingered  there.  And  that  haste 
had  made  them  careless,  for  the  horse 
of  the  man  who  led  him  slipped  in  a 
gopher-hole,  rolled  over,  unseated  his 
rider,  and  even  dragged  the  bound  and 
helpless  second  captive  from  Judge 
Boompointer's  favorite  mare.  In  an  in 
stant  they  were  all  on  their  feet  again, 
but  in  that  supreme  moment  the 
second  captive  felt  the  cords  which 
bound  his  arms  had  slipped  to  his 
wrists.  By  keeping  his  elbows  to  his 
sides,  and  obliging  the  others  to  help 
him  mount,  it  escaped  their  notice.  By 
riding  close  to  his  captors,  and  keeping 


•»% 


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5ij® 


LTJE 


VN\\> 


SALOMY  JANE 

in  the  crush  of  the  throng,  he  further 
concealed  the  accident,  slowly  working 
his  hands  downwards  out  of  his  bonds. 
Their  way  lay  through  a  sylvan  wil 
derness,  mid-leg  deep  in  ferns,  whose 
tall  fronds  brushed  their  horses'  sides 
in  their  furious  gallop  and  concealed 
the  flapping  of  the  captive's  loosened 
cords.  The  peaceful  vista,  more  sug 
gestive  of  the  offerings  of  nymph  and 
shepherd  than  of  human  sacrifice,  was 
in  a  strange  contrast  to  this  whirlwind 
rush  of  stern,  armed  men.  The  wester 
ing  sun  pierced  the  subdued  light  and 
the  tremor  of  leaves  with  yellow  lances ; 
birds  started  into  song  on  blue  and 
dove-like  wings,  and  on  either  side  of 
the  trail  of  this  vengeful  storm  could  be 


W» 


SALOMY  JANE 

heard  the  murmur  of  hidden  and  tran 
quil  waters.  In  a  few  moments  they 
would  be  on  the  open  ridge,  whence 
sloped  the  common  turnpike  to  "  Saw 
yer's/'  a  mile  away.  It  was  the  custom 
of  returning  cavalcades  to  take  this  hill 
at  headlong  speed,  with  shouts  and 
cries  that  heralded  their  coming.  They 
withheld  the  latter  that  day,  as  incon 
sistent  with  their  dignity ;  but,  emerg 
ing  from  the  wood,  swept  silently  like 
an  avalanche  down  the  slope.  They 
were  well  under  way,  looking  only  to 
their  horses,  when  the  second  captive 
slipped  his  right  arm  from  the  bonds 
and  succeeded  in  grasping  the  reins 
that  lay  trailing  on  the  horse's  neck.  A 
sudden  vaquero  jerk,  which  the  well- 


3«" 


^\v 


SALOMY  JANE 

trained  animal  understood,  threw  him 
on  his  haunches  with  his  forelegs 
firmly  planted  on  the  slope.  The  rest 
of  the  cavalcade  swept  on;  the  man 
who  was  leading  the  captive's  horse  by 
the  riata,  thinking  only  of  another  acci 
dent,  dropped  the  line  to  save  himself 
from  being  dragged  backwards  from 
his  horse.  The  captive  wheeled,  and 
the  next  moment  was  galloping  furi 
ously  up  the  slope. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment;  a 
trained  horse  and  an  experienced  hand. 
The  cavalcade  had  covered  nearly  fifty 
yards  before  they  could  pull  up;  the 
freed  captive  had  covered  half  that 
distance  uphill.  The  road  was  so  nar 
row  that  only  two  shots  could  be  fired, 


16 


WA* 


SALOMY  JANE 

and  these  broke  dust  two  yards  ahead 
of  the  fugitive.  They  had  not  dared 
to  fire  low ;  the  horse  was  the  more  val 
uable  animal.  The  fugitive  knew  this 
in  his  extremity  also,  and  would  have 
gladly  taken  a  shot  in  his  own  leg  to 
spare  that  of  his  horse.  Five  men  were 
detached  to  recapture  or  kill  him.  The 
latter  seemed  inevitable.  But  he  had 
calculated  his  chances;  before  they 
could  reload  he  had  reached  the  woods 
again;  winding  in  and  out  between 
the  pillared  tree  trunks,  he  offered  no 
mark.  They  knew  his  horse  was  superior 
to  their  own ;  at  the  end  of  two  hours 
they  returned,  for  he  had  disappeared 
without  track  or  trail.  The  end  was 
briefly  told  in  the  "  Sierra  Record: "  — 


':% 

U«£ 

™A  ' 


4 

feet?! 


»w 


SALOMY  JANE 

"Red  Pete,  the  notorious  horse- 
thief,  who  had  so  long  eluded  justice, 
was  captured  and  hung  by  the  Saw 
yer's  Crossing  Vigilantes  last  week; 
his  confederate,  unfortunately,  es 
caped  on  a  valuable  horse  belonging  to 
Judge  Boompointer.  The  judge  had 
refused  one  thousand  dollars  for  the 
horse  only  a  week  before.  As  the  thief, 
who  is  still  at  large,  would  find  it  diffi 
cult  to  dispose  of  so  valuable  an  animal 
without  detection,  the  chances  are 
against  either  of  them  turning  up 
again." 


II 

SALOMY  JANE  watched  the  cavalcade 
until  it  had  disappeared.  Then  she  be 
came  aware  that  her  brief  popularity 
had  passed.  Mrs.  Red  Pete,  in  stormy 
hysterics,  had  included  her  in  a  sweep 
ing  denunciation  of  the  whole  uni 
verse,  possibly  for  simulating  an  emo 
tion  in  which  she  herself  was  deficient. 
The  other  women  hated  her  for  her 
momentary  exaltation  above  them; 
only  the  children  still  admired  her  as 
one  who  had  undoubtedly  "canoo 
dled"  with  a  man  "  a-going  to  be 
hung"  —  a  daring  flight  beyond  their 
wildest  ambition.  Salomy  Jane  ac- 


,3fc 


Hr 
^'•^ 


4 

ute: 


\^V 


SALOMY  JANE 

cepted  the  change  with  charming  un 
concern.  She  put  on  her  yellow  nan 
keen  sunbonnet,  —  a  hideous  affair 
that  would  have  ruined  any  other  wo 
man,  but  which  only  enhanced  the 
piquancy  of  her  fresh  brunette  skin, — 
tied  the  strings,  letting  the  blue-black 
braids  escape  below  its  frilled  curtain 
behind,  jumped  on  her  mustang  with  a 
casual  display  of  agile  ankles  in  shapely 
white  stockings,  whistled  to  the  hound, 
and  waving  her  hand  with  a  "  So  long, 
sonny! "  to  the  lately  bereft  but  admir 
ing  nephew,  flapped  and  fluttered 
away  in  her  short  brown  holland 
gown. 

Her  father's  house  was  four  miles 
distant.  Contrasted  with  the  cabin  she 


v£ 

W^L 


SALOMY  JANE 

had  just  quitted,  it  was  a  superior 
dwelling,  with  a  long  "lean-to"  at  the 
rear,  which  brought  the  eaves  almost 
to  the  ground  and  made  it  look  like  a 
low  triangle.  It  had  a  long  barn  and 
cattle  sheds,  for  Madison  Clay  was  a 
"great"  stockraiser  and  the  owner  of  a 
"quarter  section."  It  had  a  sitting- 
room  and  a  parlor  organ,  whose  trans 
portation  thither  had  been  a  marvel  of 
"packing."  These  things  were  sup 
posed  to  give  Salomy  Jane  an  undue 
importance,  but  the  girl's  reserve  and 
inaccessibility  to  local  advances  were 
rather  the  result  of  a  cool,  lazy  tem 
perament  and  the  preoccupation  of  a 
large,  protecting  admiration  for  her 
father,  for  some  years  a  widower.  For 


*% 


ix 

IJ  .«£.  V 
WA^ 


"* 


SALOMY  JANE 

Mr.  Madison  Clay's  life  had  been 
threatened  in  one  or  two  feuds,  —  it 
was  said,  not  without  cause,  —  and  it 
is  possible  that  the  pathetic  spectacle 
of  her  father  doing  his  visiting  with  a 
shotgun  may  have  touched  her  closely 
and  somewhat  prejudiced  her  against 
the  neighboring  masculinity.  The 
thought  that  cattle,  horses,  and  "quar 
ter  section"  would  one  day  be  hers 
did  not  disturb  her  calm.  As  for  Mr. 
Clay,  he  accepted  her  as  housewifely, 
though  somewhat  "  interfering,"  and, 
being  one  of  "his  own  womankind," 
therefore  not  without  some  degree  of 
merit. 

"  Wot 's  this  yer  I  'm  hearin'  of  your 
doin's  over  at  Red  Pete's?    Honey- 


Win 


SALOMY  JANE 

foglin'  with  a  horse-thief,  eh?"  said 
Mr.  Clay  two  days  later  at  breakfast. 

"  I  reckon  you  heard  about  the 
straight  thing,  then,"  said  Salomy 
Jane  unconcernedly,  without  looking 
round. 

"What  do  you  kalkilate  Rube  will 
say  to  it  ?  What  are  you  goin'  to  tell 
him  ?  "  said  Mr.  Clay  sarcastically. 

"  Rube,"  or  Reuben  Waters,  was  a 
swain  supposed  to  be  favored  particu 
larly  by  Mr.  Clay.  Salomy  Jane 
looked  up. 

"I'll  tell  him  that  when  he's  on  his 
way  to  be  hung,  I  '11  kiss  him,  —  not 
till  then,"  said  the  young  lady  brightly. 

This  delightful  witticism  suited  the 
paternal  humor,  and  Mr.  Clay  smiled ; 


3«" 


[«* 
u#*fe\ 

"Stf/S! 


\^V 


SALOMY  JANE 

but,  nevertheless,  he  frowned  a  mo 
ment  afterwards. 

"But  this  yer  hoss-thief  got  away 
arter  all,  and  that 's  a  hoss  of  a  different 
color,"  he  said  grimly. 

Salomy  Jane  put  down  her  knife  and 
fork.  This  was  certainly  a  new  and 
different  phase  of  the  situation.  She 
had  never  thought  of  it  before,  and, 
strangely  enough,  for  the  first  time  she 
became  interested  in  the  man.  "Got 
away?"  she  repeated.  "Did  they  let 
him  off?" 

"  Not  much,"  said  her  father  briefly. 
"Slipped  his  cords,  and  going  down 
the  grade  pulled  up  short,  just  like  a 
vaquero  agin  a  lassoed  bull,  almost 
draggin'  the  man  leadin'  him  off  his 


vfe 


SALOMY  JANE 

boss,  and  then  sky u ted  up  the  grade. 
For  that  matter,  on  that  hoss  o'  Judge 
Boompointer's  he  mout  have  dragged 
the  whole  posse  of  'em  down  on  their 
knees  ef  he  liked !  Sarved  'em  right, 
too.  Instead  of  stringin'  him  up  afore 
the  door,  or  shootin'  him  on  sight, 
they  must  allow  to  take  him  down 
afore  the  hull  committee  *  for  an  exam 
ple.'  'Example'  be  blowed!  Ther"s 
example  enough  when  some  stranger 
comes  unbeknownst  slap  onter  a  man 
hanged  to  a  tree  and  plugged  full  of 
holes.  That's  an  example,  and  he 
knows  what  it  means.  Wot  more  do  ye 
want?  But  then  those  Vigilantes  is 
allus  clingin'  and  hangin'  onter  some 
mere  scrap  o'the  law  they 're  pretendin' 


%§^ 

fcet,£ 


SALOMY  JANE 

to  despise.  It  makes  me  sick!  Why, 
when  Jake  Myers  shot  your  ole  Aunt 
Viney's  second  husband,  and  I  laid  in 
wait  for  Jake  afterwards  in  the  Butter 
nut  Hollow,  did  /  tie  him  to  his  hoss 
and  fetch  him  down  to  your  Aunt 
Viney's  cabin  'for  an  example'  before 
I  plugged  him  ?  No!"  in  deep  disgust. 
"No !  Why,  I  just  meandered  through 
the  wood,  careless-like,  till  he  comes  out, 
and  I  just  rode  up  to  him,  and  I  said  " — 
But  Salomy  Jane  had  heard  her  fa 
ther's  story  before.  Even  one's  dearest 
relatives  are  apt  to  become  tiresome  in 
narration.  "I  know,  dad,"  she  inter 
rupted;  "but  this  yer  man,  —  this 
hoss-thief,  —  did  he  get  clean  away 
without  gettin'  hurt  at  all  ?" 


SALOMY  JANE 

"He  did, and  unless  he's  fool  enough 
to  sell  the  hoss  he  kin  keep  away,  too. 
So  ye  see,  ye  can't  ladle  out  purp  stuff 
about  a  'dyin'  stranger'  to  Rube.  He 
won't  swaller  it." 

"All  the  same,  dad,"  returned  the 
girl  cheerfully,  "I  reckon  to  say  it,  and 
say  more;  I  '11  tell  him  that  ef  he  man 
ages  to  get  away  too,  I  '11  marry  him  — 
there !  But  ye  don't  ketch  Rube  takin' 
any  such  risks  in  gettin'  ketched,  or  in 
gettin'  away  arter!" 

Madison  Clay  smiled  grimly,  pushed 
back  his  chair,  rose,  dropped  a  per 
functory  kiss  on  his  daughter's  hair, 
and,  taking  his  shot-gun  from  the 
corner,  departed  on  a  peaceful  Samari 
tan  mission  to  a  cow  who  had  dropped 


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SALOMY  JANE 

a  calf  in  the  far  pasture.  Inclined  as  he 
was  to  Reuben's  wooing  from  his  eli 
gibility  as  to  property,  he  was  conscious 
that  he  was  sadly  deficient  in  certain 
qualities  inherent  in  the  Clay  family. 
It  certainly  would  be  a  kind  of  mesal 
liance. 

Left  to  herself,  Salomy  Jane  stared  a 
long  while  at  the  coffee-pot,  and  then 
called  the  two  squaws  who  assisted  her 
in  her  household  duties,  to  clear  away 
the  things  while  she  went  up  to  her 
own  room  to  make  her  bed.  Here  she 
was  confronted  with  a  possible  prospect 
of  that  proverbial  bed  she  might  be 
making  in  her  willfulness,  and  on 
which  she  must  lie,  in  the  photograph 
of  a  somewhat  serious  young  man 


» 


SALOMY  JANE 

of  refined  features — Reuben  Waters — 
stuck  in  her  window-frame.  Salomy 
Jane  smiled  over  her  last  witticism  re 
garding  him  and  enjoyed  it,  like  your 
true  humorist,  and  then,  catching  sight 
of  her  own  handsome  face  in  the  little 
mirror,  smiled  again.  But  was  n't  it 
funny  about  that  horse-thief  getting 
off  after  all  ?  Good  Lordy !  Fancy 
Reuben  hearing  he  was  alive  and  going 
round  with  that  kiss  of  hers  set  on  his 
lips !  She  laughed  again,  a  little  more 
abstractedly.  And  he  had  returned  it 
like  a  man,  holding  her  tight  and  almost 
breathless,  and  he  going  to  be  hung  the 
next  minute!  Salomy  Jane  had  been 
kissed  at  other  times,  by  force,  chance, 
or  stratagem.  In  a  certain  ingenuous 


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forfeit  game  of  the  locality  known  as 
"I'm  a-pinin',"  many  had  "pined" 
for  a  "sweet  kiss"  from  Salomy  Jane, 
which  she  had  yielded  in  a  sense  of 
honor  and  fair  play.  She  had  never 
been  kissed  like  this  before  —  she 
would  never  again;  and  yet  the  man 
was  alive!  And  behold,  she  could  see 
in  the  mirror  that  she  was  blushing! 

She  should  hardly  know  him  again. 
A  young  man  with  very  bright  eyes,  a 
flushed  and  sunburnt  cheek,  a  kind  of 
fixed  look  in  the  face,  and  no  beard ;  no, 
none  that  she  could  feel.  Yet  he  was 
not  at  all  like  Reuben,  not  a  bit.  She 
took  Reuben's  picture  from  the  win 
dow,  and  laid  it  on  her  work-box.  And 
to  think  she  did  not  even  know  this 


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SALOMY  JANE 

young  man's  name!  That  was  queer. 
To  be  kissed  by  a  man  whom  she 
might  never  know!  Of  course  he 
knew  hers.  She  wondered  if  he  re 
membered  it  and  her.  But  of  course 
he  was  so  glad  to  get  off  with  his  life 
that  he  never  thought  of  anything  else. 
Yet  she  did  not  give  more  than  four  or 
five  minutes  to  these  speculations,  and, 
like  a  sensible  girl,  thought  of  some 
thing  else.  Once  again,  however,  in 
opening  the  closet,  she  found  the 
brown  holland  gown  she  had  worn  on 
the  day  before;  thought  it  very  unbe 
coming,  and  regretted  that  she  had  not 
worn  her  best  gown  on  her  visit  to  Red 
Pete's  cottage.  On  such  an  occasion  she 
really  might  have  been  more  impressive. 


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WHEN  her  father  came  home  that 
night  she  asked  him  the  news.  No, 
they  had  not  captured  the  second 
horse-thief,  who  was  still  at  large. 
Judge  Boompointer  talked  of  invoking 
the  aid  of  the  despised  law.  It  re 
mained,  then,  to  see  whether  the  horse- 
thief  was  fool  enough  to  try  to  get  rid  of 
the  animal.  Red  Pete's  body  had  been 
delivered  to  his  widow.  Perhaps  it 
would  only  be  neighborly  forSalomy 
Jane  to  ride  over  to  the  funeral.  But 
Salomy  Jane  did  not  take  to  the  sug 
gestion  kindly,  nor  yet  did  she  explain 
to  her  father  that,  as  the  other  man 


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was  still  living,  she  did  not  care  to  un 
dergo  a  second  disciplining  at  the 
widow's  hands.  Nevertheless,  she  con 
trasted  her  situation  with  that  of  the 
widow  with  a  new  and  singular  satis 
faction.  It  might  have  been  Red  Pete 
who  had  escaped.  But  he  had  not  the 
grit  of  the  nameless  one.  She  had  al 
ready  settled  his  heroic  quality. 

"Ye  ain't  harkenin'  to  me,  Salomy." 

Salomy  Jane  started. 

"Here  I  'm  askin' ye  if  ye've  see  that 
hound  Phil  Larrabee  sneaking  by  yer 
to-day?" 

Salomy  Jane  had  not.  But  she  be 
came  interested  and  self-reproachful, 
for  she  knew  that  Phil  Larrabee  was 
one  of  her  father's  enemies.  "He 


SALOMY  JANE 

would  n't  dare  to  go  by  here  unless  he 
knew  you  were  out,"  she  said  quickly. 
"That 's  what  gets  me,"  he  said, 
scratching  his  grizzled  head.  "I  Ve 
been  kind  o'  thinkin'  o'  him  all  day, 
and  one  of  them  Chinamen  said  he  saw 
him  at  Sawyer's  Crossing.  He  was  a 
kind  of  friend  o'  Pete's  wife.  That 's 
why  I  thought  yer  might  find  out  ef 
he'd  been  there."  Salomy  Jane  grew 
more  self-reproachful  at  her  father's 
self-interest  in  her  "neighborliness." 
"But  that  ain't  all,"  continued  Mr. 
Clay.  "Thar  was  tracks  over  the  far 
pasture  that  warn't  mine.  I  followed 
them,  and  they  went  round  and  round 
the  house  two  or  three  times,  ez  ef  they 
mout  hev  bin  prowlin',  and  then  I  lost 


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'em  in  the  woods  again.  It  's  just  like 
that  sneakin'  hound  Larrabee  to  hev 
bin  lyin'  in  wait  for  me  and  afraid  to 
meet  a  man  fair  and  square  in  the 
open." 

"You  just  lie  low,  dad,  for  a  day  or 
two  more,  and  let  me  do  a  little 
prowlin',"  said  the  girl,  with  sympa 
thetic  indignation  in  her  dark  eyes. 
"  Ef  it 's  that  skunk,  I  '11  spot  him  soon 
enough  and  let  you  know  whar  he's 
hiding." 

"You'll  just  stay  where  ye  are, 
Salomy,"  said  her  father  decisively. 
"This  ain't  no  woman's  work  — 
though  I  ain't  sayin'  you  have  n't  got 
more  head  for  it  than  some  men  I 
know." 


LX//   v\\\~Z. 


SALOMY  JANE 

Nevertheless,  that  night,  after  her 
father  had  gone  to  bed,  Salomy  Jane 
sat  by  the  open  window  of  the  sitting- 
room  in  an  apparent  attitude  of  languid 
contemplation,  but  alert  and  intent  of 
eye  and  ear.  It  was  a  fine  moonlit 
night.  Two  pines  near  the  door,  soli 
tary  pickets  of  the  serried  ranks  of  dis 
tant  forest,  cast  long  shadows  like 
paths  to  the  cottage,  and  sighed  their 
spiced  breath  in  the  windows.  For 
there  was  no  frivolity  of  vine  or  flower 
round  Salomy  Jane's  bower.  The 
clearing  was  too  recent,  the  life  too 
practical  for  vanities  like  these.  But 
the  moon  added  a  vague  elusiveness  to 
everything,  softened  the  rigid  outlines 
of  the  sheds,  gave  shadows  to  the  lidless 


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windows,  and  touched  with  merciful 
indirectness  the  hideous  debris  of  re 
fuse  gravel  and  the  gaunt  scars  of 
burnt  vegetation  before  the  door. 
Even  Salomy  Jane  was  affected  by  it, 
and  exhaled  something  between  a  sigh 
and  a  yawn  with  the  breath  of  the 
pines.  Then  she  suddenly  sat  upright. 
Her  quick  ear  had  caught  a  faint 
"click,  click,"  in  the  direction  of  the 
wood;  her  quicker  instinct  and  rustic 
training  enabled  her  to  determine  that 
it  was  the  ring  of  a  horse's  shoe  on 
flinty  ground ;  her  knowledge  of  the  lo 
cality  told  her  it  came  from  the  spot 
where  the  trail  passed  over  an  outcrop 
of  flint  scarcely  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  where  she  sat,  and  within  the 


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SALOMY  JANE 

clearing.  It  was  no  errant  "stock,"  for 
the  foot  was  shod  with  iron;  it  was 
a  mounted  trespasser  by  night,  and 
boded  no  good  to  a  man  like  Clay. 

She  rose,  threw  her  shawl  over  her 
head,  more  for  disguise  than  shelter, 
and  passed  out  of  the  door.  A  sudden 
impulse  made  her  seize  her  father's 
shotgun  from  the  corner  where  it 
stood,  —  not  that  she  feared  any  dan 
ger  to  herself,  but  that  it  was  an  ex 
cuse.  She  made  directly  for  the  wood, 
keeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  pines  as 
long  as  she  could.  At  the  fringe  she 
halted;  whoever  was  there  must  pass 
her  before  reaching  the  house. 

Then  there  seemed  to  be  a  suspense 
of  all  nature.  Everything  was  deadly 


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SALOMY  JANE 

still  —  even  the  moonbeams  appeared 
no  longer  tremulous ;  soon  there  was  a 
rustle  as  of  some  stealthy  animal 
among  the  ferns,  and  then  a  dis 
mounted  man  stepped  into  the  moon 
light.  It  was  the  horse-thief — the 
man  she  had  kissed! 

For  a  wild  moment  a  strange  fancy 
seized  her  usually  sane  intellect  and 
stirred  her  temperate  blood.  The 
news  they  had  told  her  was  not  true ; 
he  had  been  hung,  and  this  was  his 
ghost!  He  looked  as  white  and  spirit- 
like  in  the  moonlight,  dressed  in  the 
same  clothes,  as  when  she  saw  him 
last.  He  had  evidently  seen  her  ap 
proaching,  and  moved  quickly  to  meet 
her.  But  in  his  haste  he  stumbled 


44 


WtH 


SALOMY  JANE 

slightly;  she  reflected  suddenly  that 
ghosts  did  not  stumble,  and  a  feeling 
of  relief  came  over  her.  And  it  was  no 
assassin  of  her  father  that  had  been 
prowling  around  —  only  this  unhappy 
fugitive.  A  momentary  color  came 
into  her  cheek ;  her  coolness  and  hardi 
hood  returned ;  it  was  with  a  tinge  of 
sauciness  in  her  voice  that  she  said :  — 
"I  reckoned  you  were  a  ghost." 
"  I  mout  have  been,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  fixedly;  "but  I  reckon  I'd  have 
come  back  here  all  the  same." 

"It's  a  little  riskier  comin'  back 
alive,"  she  said,  with  a  levity  that 
died  on  her  lips,  for  a  singular  ner 
vousness,  half  fear  and  half  expecta 
tion,  was  beginning  to  take  the  place 


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SALOMY  JANE 

of  her  relief  of  a  moment  ago.  "Then 
it  was  you  who  was  prowlin'  round  and 
makin'  tracks  in  the  far  pasture?" 

"Yes;  I  came  straight  here  when  I 
got  away." 

She  felt  his  eyes  were  burning  her, 
but  did  not  dare  to  raise  her  own. 
"Why,"  she  began,  hesitated,  and 
ended  vaguely.  "How  did  you  get 
here?" 

"You  helped  me!" 

"I?" 

"Yes.  That  kiss  you  gave  me  put 
life  into  me  — gave  me  strength  to  get 
away.  I  swore  to  myself  I  'd  come 
back  and  thank  you,  alive  or  dead." 

Every  word  he  said  she  could  have 
anticipated,  so  plain  the  situation 


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SALOMY  JANE 

seemed  to  her  now.  And  every  word 
he  said  she  knew  was  the  truth.  Yet 
her  cool  common  sense  struggled 
against  it. 

"What's  the  use  of  your  escaping,  ef 
you're  comin'  back  here  to  be  ketched 
again?"  she  said  pertly. 

He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her,  but 
seemed  to  her  the  more  awkward  as 
she  resumed  her  self-possession.  His 
voice,  too,  was  broken,  as  if  by  ex 
haustion,  as  he  said,  catching  his 
breath  at  intervals :  — 

"I'll  tell  you.  You  did  more  for  me 
than  you  think.  You  made  another 
man  o'  me.  I  never  had  a  man,  wo 
man,  or  child  do  to  me  what  you  did. 
I  never  had  a  friend  —  only  a  pal  like 


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SALOMY  JANE 

Red  Pete,  who  picked  me  up  'on 
shares.'  I  want  to  quit  this  yer  — 
what  I  'm  doin'.  I  want  to  begin  by 
doin'  the  square  thing  to  you" —  He 
stopped,  breathed  hard,  and  then  said 
brokenly,  "My  hoss  is  over  thar, 
staked  out.  I  want  to  give  him  to  you. 
Judge  Boompointer  will  give  you  a 
thousand  dollars  for  him.  I  ain't  lyin' ; 
it's  God's  truth !  I  saw  it  on  the  hand 
bill  agin  a  tree.  Take  him,  and  I'll 
get  away  afoot.  Take  him.  It 's  the 
only  thing  I  can  do  for  you,  and  I 
know  it  don't  half  pay  for  what  you 
did.  Take  it;  your  father  can  get  a  re 
ward  for  you,  if  you  can't." 

Such  were  the  ethics  of  this  strange 
locality    that   neither   the   man   who 


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SALOMY  JANE 

made  the  offer  nor  the  girl  to  whom  it 
was  made  was  struck  by  anything  that 
seemed  illogical  or  indelicate,  or  at  all 
inconsistent  with  justice  or  the  horse- 
thief's  real  conversion.  Salomy  Jane 
nevertheless  dissented,  from  another 
and  weaker  reason. 

"I  don't  want  your  hoss,  though  I 
reckon  dad  might;  but  you're  just 
starvin'.  I'll  get  suthin'."  She  turned 
towards  the  house. 

"Say  you'll  take  the  hoss  first,"  he 
said,  grasping  her  hand.  At  the  touch 
she  felt  herself  coloring  and  struggled, 
expecting  perhaps  another  kiss.  But 
he  dropped  her  hand.  She  turned 
again  with  a  saucy  gesture,  said,  "Hoi* 
on ;  I  '11  come  right  back,"  and  slipped 


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49 


SALOMY  JANE 

away,  the  mere  shadow  of  a  coy  and 
flying  nymph  in  the  moonlight,  until 
she  reached  the  house. 

Here  she  not  only  procured  food  and 
whiskey,  but  added  a  long  dust-coat 
and  hat  of  her  father's  to  her  burden. 
They  would  serve  as  a  disguise  for  him 
and  hide  that  heroic  figure,  which  she 
thought  everybody  must  now  know  as 
she  did.  Then  she  rejoined  him 
breathlessly.  But  he  put  the  food  and 
whiskey  aside. 

"Listen,"  he  said;  "I  Ve  turned  the 
hoss  into  your  corral.  You  '11  find  him 
there  in  the  morning,  and  no  one  will 
know  but  that  he  got  lost  and  joined 
the  other  bosses." 

Then  she  burst  out.    "But  you  — 


r^ 


SALOMY  JANE 

you  —  what  will  become  of  you  ? 
You'llbeketched!" 

"I  '11  manage  to  get  away,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "ef —  ef  "  — 

"Ef  what?"  she  said  tremblingly. 

"Ef  you'll  put  the  heart  in  me 
again,  —  as  you  did!"  he  gasped. 

She  tried  to  laugh  —  to  move  away. 
She  could  do  neither.  Suddenly  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  with  a  long 
kiss,  which  she  returned  again  and 
again.  Then  they  stood  embraced  as 
they  had  embraced  two  days  before, 
but  no  longer  the  same.  For  the  cool, 
lazy  Salomy  Jane  had  been  trans 
formed  into  another  woman  —  a  pas 
sionate,  clinging  savage.  Perhaps 
something  of  her  father's  blood  had 


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SALOMY  JANE 

surged  within  her  at  that  supreme  mo 
ment.  The  man  stood  erect  and  deter 
mined. 

"Wot's  your  name?"  she  whis 
pered  quickly.  It  was  a  woman's 
quickest  way  of  defining  her  feelings. 

"Dart." 

"Yer  first  name?" 

"Jack." 

"Let  me  go  now,  Jack.  Lie  low  in 
the  woods  till  to-morrow  sunup.  I  '11 
come  again." 

He  released  her.  Yet  she  lingered  a 
moment.  "Put  on  those  things,"  she 
said,  with  a  sudden  happy  flash  of  eyes 
and  teeth,  "and  lie  close  till  I  come." 
And  then  she  sped  away  home. 

But  midway  up  the  distance  she  felt 


S^r*  </^ 

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SALOMY  JANE 

her  feet  going  slower,  and  something 
at  her  heartstrings  seemed  to  be  pulling 
her  back.  She  stopped,  turned,  and 
glanced  to  where  he  had  been  standing. 
Had  she  seen  him  then,  she  might  have 
returned.  But  he  had  disappeared.  She 
gave  her  first  sigh,  and  then  ran  quickly 
again.  It  must  be  nearly  ten  o'clock! 
It  was  not  very  long  to  morning ! 

She  was  within  a  few  steps  of  her 
own  door,  when  the  sleeping  woods 
and  silent  air  appeared  to  suddenly 
awake  with  a  sharp  "crack!" 

She  stopped,  paralyzed.  Another 
"crack!"  followed,  that  echoed  over 
to  the  far  corral.  She  recalled  herself 
instantly  and  dashed  off  wildly  to  the 
woods  again. 


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SALOMY  JANE 

As  she  ran  she  thought  of  one  thing 
only.  He  had  been  "dogged"  by  one 
of  his  old  pursuers  and  attacked.  But 
there  were  two  shots,  and  he  was  un 
armed.  Suddenly  she  remembered  that 
she  had  left  her  father's  gun  standing 
against  the  tree  where  they  were  talk 
ing.  Thank  God !  she  may  again  have 
saved  him.  She  ran  to  the  tree ;  the  gun 
was  gone.  She  ran  hither  and  thither, 
dreading  at  every  step  to  fall  upon  his 
lifeless  body.  A  new  thought  struck 
her;  she  ran  to  the  corral.  The  horse 
was  not  there!  He  must  have  been 
able  to  regain  it,  and  escaped,  after  the 
shots  had  been  fired.  She  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief,  but  it  was  caught  up 
in  an  apprehension  of  alarm.  Her  fa- 


54 


pv^ 

V 


SALOMY  JANE 

ther,  awakened  from  his  sleep  by  the 
shots,  was  hurriedly  approaching  her. 

"What's  up  now,  Salomy  Jane?" 
he  demanded  excitedly. 

"Nothin',"  said  the  girl  with  an  ef 
fort.  "Nothin',  at  least,  that  /  can 
find."  She  was  usually  truthful  be 
cause  fearless,  and  a  lie  stuck  in  her 
throat;  but  she  was  no  longer  fearless, 
thinking  of  him.  "I  wasn't  abed;  so 
I  ran  out  as  soon  as  I  heard  the  shots 
fired,"  she  answered  in  return  to  his 
curious  gaze. 

"And  you  've  hid  my  gun  some 
where  where  it  can't  be  found,"  he 
said  reproachfully.  "Ef  it  was  that 
sneak  Larrabee,  and  he  fired  them 
shots  to  lure  me  out,  he  might  have 


SALOMY  JANE 

potted  me,  without  a  show,  a  dozen 
times  in  the  last  five  minutes." 

She  had  not  thought  since  of  her  fa 
ther's  enemy!  It  might  indeed  have 
been  he  who  had  attacked  Jack.  But 
she  made  a  quick  point  of  the  sugges 
tion.  "Run  in,  dad,  run  in  and  find 
the  gun;  you've  got  no  show  out  here 
without  it."  She  seized  him  by  the 
shoulders  from  behind,  shielding  him 
from  the  woods,  and  hurried  him,  half 
expostulating,  half  struggling,  to  the 
house. 

But  there  no  gun  was  to  be  found. 
It  was  strange ;  it  must  have  been  mis 
laid  in  some  corner!  Was  he  sure  he 
had  not  left  it  in  the  barn?  But  no 
matter  now.  The  danger  was  over; 


SALOMY  JANE 

the  Larrabee  trick  had  failed ;  he  must 
go  to  bed  now,  and  in  the  morning  they 
would  make  a  search  together.  At  the 
same  time  she  had  inwardly  resolved 
to  rise  before  him  and  make  another 
search  of  the  wood,  and  perhaps  — 
fearful  joy  as  she  recalled  her  promise! 
—  find  Jack  alive  and  well,  awaiting 
her! 


Another  Escape 


IV 

SALOMY  JANE  slept  little  that  night, 
nor  did  her  father.  But  towards  morn 
ing  he  fell  into  a  tired  man's  slumber 
until  the  sun  was  well  up  the  horizon. 
Far  different  was  it  with  his  daughter : 
she  lay  with  her  face  to  the  window,  her 
head  half  lifted  to  catch  every  sound, 
from  the  creaking  of  the  sun-warped 
shingles  above  her  head  to  the  far-off 
moan  of  the  rising  wind  in  the  pine 
trees.  Sometimes  she  fell  into  a  breath 
less,  half-ecstatic  trance,  living  over 
every  moment  of  the  stolen  interview; 
feeling  the  fugitive's  arm  still  around 
her,  his  kisses  on  her  lips;  hearing  his 


fe 


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•^v 


SALOMY  JANE 

whispered  voice  in  her  ears  —  the  birth 
of  her  new  life!  This  was  followed 
again  by  a  period  of  agonizing  dread 
—  that  he  might  even  then  be  lying, 
his  life  ebbing  away,  in  the  woods,  with 
her  name  on  his  lips,  and  she  resting 
here  inactive,  until  she  half  started 
from  her  bed  to  go  to  his  succor.  And 
this  went  on  until  a  pale  opal  glow 
came  into  the  sky,  followed  by  a  still 
paler  pink  on  the  summit  of  the  white 
Sierras,  when  she  rose  and  hurriedly 
began  to  dress.  Still  so  sanguine  was 
her  hope  of  meeting  him,  that  she  lin 
gered  yet  a  moment  to  select  the  brown 
holland  skirt  and  yellow  sunbonnet  she 
had  worn  when  she  first  saw  him.  And 
she  had  only  seen  him  twice!  Only 


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SALOMY  JANE 

twice!  It  would  be  cruel,  too  cruel,  not 
to  see  him  again! 

She  crept  softly  down  the  stairs,  lis 
tening  to  the  long-drawn  breathing  of 
her  father  in  his  bedroom,  and  then,  by 
the  light  of  a  guttering  candle,  scrawled 
a  note  to  him,  begging  him  not  to  trust 
himself  out  of  the  house  until  she  re 
turned  from  her  search,  and  leaving 
the  note  open  on  the  table,  swiftly  ran 
out  into  the  growing  day. 

Three  hours  afterwards  Mr.  Madi 
son  Clay  awoke  to  the  sound  of  loud 
knocking.  At  first  this  forced  itself 
upon  his  consciousness  as  his  daugh 
ter's  regular  morning  summons,  and 
was  responded  to  by  a  grunt  of  recog 
nition  and  a  nestling  closer  in  the  blan- 


,xx>^v< 

W, 


4*H 


VN\\V 


SALOMY  JANE 

kets.  Then  he  awoke  with  a  start  and 
a  muttered  oath,  remembering  the 
events  of  last  night,  and  his  intention 
to  get  up  early,  and  rolled  out  of  bed. 
Becoming  aware  by  this  time  that  the 
knocking  was  at  the  outer  door,  and 
hearing  the  shout  of  a  familiar  voice, 
he  hastily  pulled  on  his  boots,  his  jean 
trousers,  and  fastening  a  single  suspen 
der  over  his  shoulder  as  he  clattered 
downstairs,  stood  in  the  lower  room. 
The  door  was  open,  and  waiting  upon 
the  threshold  was  his  kinsman,  an  old 
ally  in  many  a  blood-feud  —  Brecken- 
ridge  Clay! 

"You  are  a  cool  one,  Mad!"  said 
the  latter  in  half-admiring  indigna 
tion. 


fft\< 


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SALOMY  JANE 

"What's  up?"  said  the  bewildered 
Madison. 

"Ton  ought  to  be,  and  scootin'  out 
o'  this,"  said  Breckenridge  grimly. 
"It's  all  very  well  to  ' know  nothin ' ; ' 
but  here  Phil  Larrabee's  friends  hev 
just  picked  him  up,  drilled  through 
with  slugs  and  deader  nor  a  crow,  and 
now  they  're  lettin'  loose  Larrabee's 
two  half-brothers  on  you.  And  you 
must  go  like  a  derned  fool  and  leave 
these  yer  things  behind  you  in  the 
bresh,"  he  went  on  querulously,  lifting 
Madison  Clay's  dust-coat,  hat,  and 
shotgun  from  his  horse,  which  stood 
saddled  at  the  door.  "  Luckily  I  picked 
them  up  in  the  woods  comin'  here.  Ye 
ain't  got  more  than  time  to  get  over  the 


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SALOMY  JANE 

state  line  and  among  your  folks  thar 
afore  they'll  be  down  on  you.  Hustle, 
old  man !  What  are  you  gawkin'  and 
starin'  at?" 

Madison  Clay  had  stared  amazed 
and  bewildered  —  horror-stricken.  The 
incidents  of  the  past  night  for  the  first 
time  flashed  upon  him  clearly  —  hope 
lessly!  The  shot;  his  finding  Salomy 
Jane  alone  in  the  woods ;  her  confusion 
and  anxiety  to  rid  herself  of  him ;  the 
disappearance  of  the  shotgun ;  and  now 
this  new  discovery  of  the  taking  of  his 
hat  and  coat  for  a  disguise!  She  had 
killed  Phil  Larrabee  in  that  disguise, 
after  provoking  his  first  harmless  shot ! 
She,  his  own  child,  Salomy  Jane,  had 
disgraced  herself  by  a  man's  crime ;  had 


SALOMY  JANE 

disgraced  him  by  usurping  his  right, 
and  taking  a  mean  advantage,  by  de 
ceit,  of  a  foe ! 

"Gimme  that  gun,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Breckenridge  handed  him  the  gun  in 
wonder  and  slowly  gathering  suspi 
cion.  Madison  examined  nipple  and 
muzzle;  one  barrel  had  been  dis 
charged.  It  was  true!  The  gun 
dropped  from  his  hand. 

"Look  here,  old  man,"  said  Breck 
enridge,  with  a  darkening  face, "  there 's 
bin  no  foul  play  here.  Thar's  bin  no 
hiring  of  men,  no  deputy  to  do  this  job. 
^owdid  it  fair  and  square — yourself?" 

"Yes,  by  God!"  burst  out  Madison 
Clay  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "Who  says  I 
didn't?" 


SALOMY  JANE 

Reassured,  yet  believing  that  Madi 
son  Clay  had  nerved  himself  for  the  act 
by  an  over-draught  of  whiskey,  which 
had  affected  his  memory,  Breckenridge 
said  curtly,  "Then  wake  up  and  'lite' 
out,  ef  ye  want  me  to  stand  by  you." 

"Go  to  the  corral  and  pick  me  out  a 
hoss,"  said  Madison  slowly,  yet  not 
without  a  certain  dignity  of  manner. 
"I  've  suthin'  to  say  to  Salomy  Jane 
afore  I  go."  He  was  holding  her  scrib 
bled  note,  which  he  had  just  discovered, 
in  his  shaking  hand. 

Struck  by  his  kinsman's  manner,  and 
knowing  the  dependent  relations  of 
father  and  daughter,  Breckenridge  nod 
ded  and  hurried  away.  Left  to  him 
self,  Madison  Clay  ran  his  fingers 


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sj  AV  te 


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t£-?i 


SALOMY  JANE 

through  his  hair,  and  straightened  out 
the  paper  on  which  Salomy  Jane  had 
scrawled  her  note,  turned  it  over,  and 
wrote  on  the  back :  — 

You  might  have  told  me  you  did  it, 
and  not  leave  your  ole  father  to  find  it 
out  how  you  disgraced  yourself  and 
him,  too,  by  a  low-down,  under 
handed,  woman's  trick !  I  've  said  I 
done  it,  and  took  the  blame  myself,  and 
all  the  sneakiness  of  it  that  folks  sus 
pect.  If  I  get  away  alive  —  and  I 
don't  care  much  which  —  you  need  n't 
foller.  The  house  and  stock  are  yours ; 
but  you  ain't  any  longer  the  daughter 
of  your  disgraced  father, 

MADISON  CLAY. 


\m 


0«( 


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iAr*" 


SALOMY  JANE 

He  had  scarcely  finished  the  note 
when,  with  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  a  led 
horse,  Breckenridge  reappeared  at  the 
door  elate  and  triumphant.  "You're 
in  nigger  luck,  Mad !  I  found  that  stole 
hoss  of  Judge  Boompointer's  had  got 
away  and  strayed  among  your  stock  in 
the  corral.  Take  him  and  you 're  safe ; 
he  can't  be  outrun  this  side  of  the  state 
line." 

"I  ain't  no  hoss-thief,"  said  Madi 
son  grimly. 

"Nobody  sez  ye  are,  but  you'd  be 
wuss  —  a  fool  —  ef  you  did  n't  take 
him.  I  'm  testimony  that  you  found 
him  among  your  hosses ;  I  '11  tell  Judge 
Boompointer  you've  got  him,  and  ye 
kin  send  him  back  when  you're  safe. 


SALOMY  JANE 

The  judge  will  be  mighty  glad  to  get 
him  back,  and  call  it  quits.  So  ef 
you've  writ  to  Salomy  Jane,  come." 

Madison  Clay  no  longer  hesitated. 
Salomy  Jane  might  return  at  any  mo 
ment,  —  it  would  be  part  of  her  "fool 
womanishness,"  —  and  he  was  in  no 
mood  to  see  her  before  a  third  party. 
He  laid  the  note  on  the  table,  gave  a 
hurried  glance  around  the  house, 
which  he  grimly  believed  he  was  leav 
ing  forever,  and,  striding  to  the  door, 
leaped  on  the  stolen  horse,  and  swept 
away  with  his  kinsman. 

But  that  note  lay  for  a  week  undis 
turbed  on  the  table  in  full  view  of  the 
open  door.  The  house  was  invaded  by 
leaves,  pine  cones,  birds,  and  squirrels 


« 


^Nl 


:*y 

fifctf 


SALOMY  JANE 

during  the  hot,  silent,  empty  days, 
and  at  night  by  shy,  stealthy  creatures, 
but  never  again,  day  or  night,  by  any 
of  the  Clay  family.  It  was  known  in 
the  district  that  Clay  had  flown  across 
the  state  line,  his  daughter  was  believed 
to  have  joined  him  the  next  day,  and 
the  house  was  supposed  to  be  locked  up. 
It  lay  off  the  main  road,  and  few 
passed  that  way.  The  starving  cattle 
in  the  corral  at  last  broke  bounds  and 
spread  over  the  woods.  And  one  night 
a  stronger  blast  than  usual  swept 
through  the  house,  carried  the  note 
from  the  table  to  the  floor,  where, 
whirled  into  a  crack  in  the  flooring,  it 
slowly  rotted. 

But  though  the  sting  of  her  father's 


SALOMY  JANE 

reproach  was  spared  her,  Salomy  Jane 
had  no  need  of  the  letter  to  know  what 
had  happened.  For  as  she  entered  the 
woods  in  the  dim  light  of  that  morning 
she  saw  the  figure  of  Dart  gliding  from 
the  shadow  of  a  pine  towards  her.  The 
unaffected  cry  of  joy  that  rose  from 
her  lips  died  there  as  she  caught  sight 
of  his  face  in  the  open  light. 

"You  are  hurt,"  she  said,  clutching 
his  arm  passionately. 

"No,"  he  said.  "But  I  wouldn't 
mind  that  if  "  — 

"You're  thinkin'  I  was  afeard  to 
come  back  last  night  when  I  heard  the 
shootin',  but  I  did  come,"  she  went  on 
feverishly.  "I  ran  back  here  when  I 
heard  the  two  shots,  but  you  were 


SALOMY  JANE 

gone.  I  went  to  the  corral,  but  your 
hoss  was  n't  there,  and  I  thought  you'd 
got  away." 

"I  did  get  away,"  said  Dart  gloom 
ily.  "I  killed  the  man,  thinkin'  he  was 
huntin'  me,  and  forgettin'  I  was  dis 
guised.  He  thought  I  was  your  father." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  joyfully,  "he 
was  after  dad,  and  you  —  you  killed 
him."  She  again  caught  his  hand  ad 
miringly. 

But  he  did  not  respond.  Possibly 
there  were  points  of  honor  which  this 
horse-thief  felt  vaguely  with  her  father. 
"Listen,"  he  said  grimly.  "Others 
think  it  was  your  father  killed  him. 
When  7  did  it  —  for  he  fired  at  me 
first  —  I  ran  to  the  corral  again  and 


SALOMY  JANE 

took  my  boss,  thinkin'  I  might  be  fol- 
lered.  I  made  a  clear  circuit  of  the 
house,  and  when  I  found  he  was  the 
only  one,  and  no  one  was  follerin',  I 
come  back  here  and  took  off  my  dis 
guise.  Then  I  heard  his  friends  find 
him  in  the  wood,  and  I  know  they  sus 
pected  your  father.  And  then  another 
man  come  through  the  woods  while  I 
was  hidin'  and  found  the  clothes  and 
took  them  away."  He  stopped  and 
stared  at  her  gloomily. 

But  all  this  was  unintelligible  to  the 
girl.  "Dad  would  have  got  the  better 
of  him  ef  you  hadn't,"  she  said  eagerly, 
"so  what's  the  difference?" 

"All  the  same,"  he  said  gloomily, 
"I  must  take  his  place." 


s-s*'  >: 

KME 


t- 


4 

fccfe: 


^?re*A? 

al//  VL 


SALOMY  JANE 

She  did  not  understand,  but  turned 
her  head  to  her  master.  "Then  you'll 
go  back  with  me  and  tell  him  all  ?"  she 
said  obediently. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  they 
crept  out  of  the  wood  together.  She 
foresaw  a  thousand  difficulties,  but, 
chiefest  of  all,  that  he  did  not  love  as 
she  did.  She  would  not  have  taken 
these  risks  against  their  happiness. 

But  alas  for  ethics  and  heroism.  As 
they  were  issuing  from  the  wood  they 
heard  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs,  and 
had  barely  time  to  hide  themselves  be 
fore  Madison  Clay,  on  the  stolen  horse 
of  Judge  Boompointer,  swept  past 
them  with  his  kinsman. 


Wfo 


SALOMY  JANE 

Salomy  Jane  turned  to  her  lover. 

And  here  I  might,  as  a  moral  ro 
mancer,  pause,  leaving  the  guilty,  pas 
sionate  girl  eloped  with  her  disreputable 
lover,  destined  to  lifelong  shame  and 
misery,  misunderstood  to  the  last  by  a 
criminal,  fastidious  parent.  But  I  am 
confronted  by  certain  facts,  on  which 
this  romance  is  based.  A  month  later 
a  handbill  was  posted  on  one  of  the 
sentinel  pines,  announcing  that  the 
property  would  be  sold  by  auction  to 
the  highest  bidder  by  Mrs.  John  Dart, 
daughter  of  Madison  Clay,  Esq.,  and 
it  was  sold  accordingly.  Still  later  — 
by  ten  years — the  chronicler  of  these 
pages  visited  a  certain  "stock"  or 


«sw 


77 


SALOMY  JANE 

"breeding  farm,"  in  the  "Blue  Grass 
Country,"  famous  for  the  popular 
racers  it  has  produced.  He  was  told 
that  the  owner  was  the  "  best  judge  of 
horse-flesh  in  the  country."  "  Small 
wonder,"  added  his  informant,  "for 
they  say  as  a  young  man  out  in  Cali 
fornia  he  was  a  horse-thief,  and  only 
saved  himself  by  eloping  with  some 
rich  farmer's  daughter.  But  he's  a 
straight-out  and  respectable  man  now, 
whose  word  about  horses  can't  be 
bought;  and  as  for  his  wife,  she's  a 
beauty!  To  see  her  at  the  'Springs,' 
rigged  out  in  the  latest  fashion,  you'd 
never  think  she  had  ever  lived  out  of 
New  York  or  was  n't  the  wife  of  one 
of  its  millionaires." 


fcitoeitfibe 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


YC I 05368 


260320 


